


Ghost

by ubiquitous_octagon



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Day in the death, Owen needs a hug, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubiquitous_octagon/pseuds/ubiquitous_octagon
Summary: After his death Owen doesn’t cope well.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Ghost

Being dead sucked. Like really fucking sucked. It's funny, he wasn't even real anymore: couldn't eat, feel or fuck. Just an empty husk of a being roaming the Earth. A ghost hearing the babbling of the world around them. They are all talking about weddings and work, but he was dead. It was the end of his fucking life.

He stared, glazed eyes, at the TV screen. It kept repeating and repeating and repeating. There was nothing he could do anymore. Too much of a liability at work. Unable to go for a good meal or shag the day away. All the fucking wonder sapped from his being.

Then Tosh arrived. Her superficial smile and immaterial chatter. Acting like she understood but she couldn't. No one could understand the torment. They all think he’s fine but they are wrong. A scream constantly bubbles under his skin. An itch begging to be scratched, ripped and torn out. Suddenly, he's yelling at her. His pain spit out in a bitter flurry of anger. The cold crunching of bones snapping, moving dead flesh and he runs. He runs because it hurts, it burn like shrapnel gouging into his heart. That scream tearing out of him in the bubbling of water. The pain hidden in the murky depths.

He paced his apartment. Back and forth, back and forth. Nails scratched his scalp and he tried to claw away the thoughts. The memories of the was his finger felt when it snapped, the smooth slice the scalpel made as it cut through is dead flesh. He couldn't feel the pain but he could feel something. Feel, he'd taken feeling for granted. The hot the cold, rough and smooth even the fucking pain. Now all he had was heartbreak. Diane, Katie and now he'd lost his life. He way to cope with it all. He couldn't block it out with drink or sex. The tumultuous waves of his mind crashed in the silence around him. He just wanted to feel something, something real. Maybe it would be the warmth of a cup of tea on a cold morning or the slow drip of tear as it fell down his cheek. But he would never feel again, there was no point.

The itch had come back. That scream right under the veins. He just had to tear it away. Peel the top layer off and release the agony underneath. He howled, sinking into the floor. Curled up in foetal position his shoulders shook. Yet no tears fell, he couldn't fucking cry. His nails lacerated the skin digging into it, tearing it up. There was meant to be blood. He was animate where was it, it should be there. He knew biology, he was, he should have blood. It has to just be... deeper.

He scrambled across the floor on skittish legs. Shaking hands tearing open the medical kit searching for the scalpel. Slicing it up and down his arms. Flesh peeling, flaking away showing bone and yet no blood. No pain, just minor discomfort. He sank back into the ground. People’s live moving, doing the same old things, yet he's there stuck catatonic and unnoticed in the centre. He's not real.

Time passed, he didn't know how long. It didn't matter, he didn't have to move to eat or piss so he could stay there forever, propped up against the wall like a rag doll. The world kept flashing, zooming, speeding by and yet he stayed still in his tiny corner of the Earth. Still and irrelevant. Frozen on his own little bubble of existence.

A knock echoed round the lifeless room. Owen couldn't bring himself to care. He was disconnected from the world, a phone without WiFi. Another knock, this one increasingly more desperate. 

“Stop sulking Owen and answer the door'" Jack's voice exclaimed. "Just let me in."

Jack's pleas became more and more frantic by the second. Abruptly, the crack sounded. A storm of dust and plaster came barrelling through the door and the suave figure of Captain Harkness was right in front of him. Concern was shown in the furrow of his brows, his frantic dash to Owens limp body and panicked calls to the team. Yet Owen couldn't move, he was numb. He just wanted it all to stop.

“Are you ready to jump?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this monstrosity~ Kudos and comments welcome. If I’ve offended anyone or there are inaccuracies please comment below~


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